


Head Trauma, and Other Dating Concerns

by tortoisegirl



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Concussions, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortoisegirl/pseuds/tortoisegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan faces a lot of issues when it comes to his relationship with Rorschach. Written as part of the wm_secretsanta exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Trauma, and Other Dating Concerns

Dan never expected a relationship with Rorschach to be any sort of normal, but this… This went beyond anything Dan could have foretold.

It had been about three weeks since it became clear that they were going to be more than just friends, and the baffling thing about their newfound relationship was that, well, there was nothing happening. Nothing happening from Rorschach’s side, that is. No change in the amount of time he spent at Dan’s. Nothing new in the way of physical affection. Not a word about what had happened or what could happen, but neither was there anger, disavowal—and those, at least, he would expect. Everything was simply…the same.

Rorschach made his intentions clear the night they finally stepped beyond their boundaries and into this new _thing_. It replayed in Dan’s head more than he’d ever admit, vivid and intense as it was in person. But he was starting to think Rorschach had forgotten about it completely.

Week after week of this sheer nothingness and Dan felt like he was being suspended in midair, waiting for Rorschach to come along and push him one way or the other. Afraid to make a move on his own lest he upset the balance he doesn’t understand in the first place and bring it all crashing down.

There was a night that qualified as a good night, when the weather was decent and the crime wasn’t as vicious and, high on his good mood, Dan was hoping the good luck would hold long enough for him to convince Rorschach to crash at his place for the night. That plan was shot to hell when Dan tumbled backwards to crack his head on the edge of a dumpster. In the seconds before his vision blurred out he watched Rorschach take out the thugs who'd caught him off guard with such lethal ferocity that it was downright touching.

(Later Dan saw this as a consequence of his situation: when you can’t find the affection you’re looking for where you expect it, you find it in things like your partner's amplified violence.)

The ensuing shuffle was trickier, mostly a rush of sounds and lights that were too bright, and a constant throb at the base of his skull as Rorschach gripped his arm and pushed him back to the warehouse, the tunnel, the basement.

Afterwards there wasn’t much he remembered about that night. Certain things did stick though, standing out like beacons in the fog: Rorschach’s hands combing through his hair to feel at the wound; Rorschach standing beside him with one hand on his back and the other pushing a glass of water at him; Rorschach’s voice coming at him in long, incomprehensible sentences as he lay in his darkened bedroom, wondering why the form hunched in the chair by the bed looked different that normal.

The following morning Dan, with a sore neck and a headache for the ages, groped his way towards the bathroom in search of water and found in his guest room a stranger he would recognize anywhere. Rorschach was standing next to an obvious poor attempt at making the bed, shrugging the trenchcoat up over his shoulders. He looked fully unconcerned when he met Dan’s gaze with _brown_ eyes, as straight-backed and stoic as he ever was, which had Dan beat by a mile in the _oh God, keep cool_ department.

“Good that you’re up,” Rorschach said.

Dan gulped and stared and didn’t say anything.

Then Rorschach had the mask in his hand and was pulling it over his disheveled hair, then the hat, then brushing by him into the hallway. One last comment about patrol that Dan barely heard and Rorschach was gone, leaving Dan to hover in the bedroom doorway.

Rorschach stayed overnight with him. Rorschach _unmasked_. It was more than he’d ever dared hope for, and he’d been unconscious for most of it.

There was no helping it now; five minutes with his unmasked partner left Dan shaken in a way he never expected. Sharper than the confusion and uncertainly of the past weeks, it threw him back into the earliest days of his infatuation with Rorschach, when he knew what he wanted with agonizing clarity and would do whatever it took to pursue it.

Dan sat on the guest bed, mussed sheets balled up in his hands, and he came up with a plan.

\----

Dan stumbled out of the Owlship more than walked, leaning heavily on Rorschach. Despite the pain radiating from his shoulders across his back he was thoroughly enjoying the feel of Rorschach’s arm around his waist.

Rorschach stopped him as soon as they were out of the ship. “Wait.” He faced Dan and reached to push back the cowl, curve both hands around the back of Dan’s head and prod firmly at the tender spots. Dan hissed and squeezed his eyes shut. The inspection gentled after another few seconds of pressure, then gentler still until the hands were cradling his head.

Dan had to work to keep his breathing even.

"Two concussions in week,” Rorschach said. “That's bad, Daniel."

"I'll be sure to space them out more in the future."

"Don't be smart. Dangerous so close together." His hands came up to either side of Dan’s face, a thumb smoothing over his cheek. "Hospital?"

It hit Dan in a way he didn't expect to hear Rorschach suggest that; worried enough about his safely to seek outside help when he himself would try to heal a broken bone on his own. “No hospital,” Dan said.

Rorschach nodded.

He sat Dan down under the florescent lights of the Nest’s medical bay for a more thorough assessment, clinical and strictly business this time. “The worst of the bruising is on your shoulders and neck,” he said, hands flat against Dan’s shoulder blades. He made a thoughtful noise. “Damage to the head looks minimal. Shoulders took most of the impact.”

Dan stayed quiet.

“Head might have been hit when the crowbar bounced back after initial impact,” Rorschach continued. “Weaker hit, but maybe enough.”

“Mmm. Must have been it.”

“You’re lucky. Could have been seriously hurt.” He moved to crouch in front of Dan. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit with a crowbar,” Dan said.

“Hrrm.” Rorschach leaned in to check his pupils, which left Dan to stare into the swells of ink and pick out the contours of the face he now knew lay beneath them. He never gave much thought to what Rorschach looked like. Most likely nothing would ever quite match the vision of the masked man he’d built up over the years, but the freckled, skin-and-bones face was a genuine surprise.

Satisfied with his examination, Rorschach straightened up. “Doesn’t look as bad as last time.”

Dan leaned back and rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve never had two concussions this close together before.” He hesitated a half second. “You gonna leave me to fend for myself this time?”

“No,” Rorschach replied. If there was anything to be read in it Dan missed it, but his stomach jumped all the same. Rorschach extended a hand to haul him up. “Upstairs. Come on.”

\-----

Dan left Rorschach to knock around the kitchen, brewing coffee and pocketing sugar cubes, and slipped off to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes to get out of costume.

The door clicked closed; Dan let out a long breath.

Maybe he was underselling this. Amping it up at this point would be suspicious, though. Rorschach was in his house and staying for the night; half the plan already successful. As for the second half, well…that he wasn’t so sure about. Dan just hoped that he would have to pretend to be unconscious for Rorschach to take off the mask.

But, one step at a time. He changed as quickly he could, dug a bottle of aspirin from the cabinet, and went back to the kitchen where Rorschach had a glass of water ready for him.

Rorschach stuck to the no nonsense treatment plan: pain killers, fluids, another look at his pupils. Always standing at least halfway turned towards Daniel, mindful of his stance, ducking in several times with a steadying hand whenever he looked too shaky. They ended up sitting across from each other at the table, Rorschach devouring yesterday’s pizza and Dan picking over a bowl of dry cereal. Rorschach had stripped off his gloves to eat—and it’s not as if Dan hasn’t seen his hands before, but everything about Rorschach seemed to take on a new quality lately, and Dan spaced out a little watching the move and flex of his knobby hands.

“Go and rest,” Rorschach soon ordered. Maybe he got tired of Dan staring at his hands. “It’s what helped the most last time.”

“Was it?” Dan asked. They hadn’t spoken about that episode—any of it—over the week. “I don’t remember much.”

“Wasn’t that interesting.”

Dan felt reckless all of a sudden. Having a concussion as a bad behavior scapegoat seemed to be doing wonders for his confidence. “I remember you not having the mask on. That was pretty interesting.”

Rorschach fixed him with a wild, inky stare for several long seconds, then shrugged. “Didn’t need to be Rorschach to play doctor to you.”

There was so much in that sentence for Dan to unpack his brain fuzzed out for a second. One step at time, he reminded himself, and this time needed him to focus on what he had in front of him.

For better or for worse his recklessness was still going strong. “So does this count as playing doctor to me now?”

“Thought I told you to go rest, Dreiberg.”

Dan smirked, but stood. “Whatever you say, doctor.”

\-----

The living room was his best bet, Dan decided. His back ached enough that it was a chore to move and sinking down on the couch had felt like heaven, but any hope of sleep was killed when Rorschach followed him into the room stripped of the trench, suit jacket, and mask.

Seeing him a second time wasn’t any less staggering than the first.

Half an hour later Rorschach had excused himself to the bathroom, and without his partner’s presence as a distraction Dan was trying to sort out the mess of thoughts filling his head.

After shooting him an initial scowl—admittedly, Dan was staring like an idiot—Rorschach had settled himself in the corner armchair with a book pulled from the shelf (opening it to a bookmark Dan didn’t remember putting there. Dan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask.). He found himself watching Rorschach as he read; watching the movement of his eyes as he scanned the page, the subtle flex of his arms when he turned a page. Only Rorschach could make such an everyday action so captivating. The very atmosphere of the room felt changed with him there.

The man himself interrupted these thoughts by returning to the room. He picked up the book off the armchair and tapped at Dan’s leg with it. “Move over.” Dan shuffled his legs aside; Rorschach dropped down in the vacated spot and went back to reading.

Dan poked Rorschach with his foot. “Is that my medical book?” he asked.

“There’s good information in here,” Rorschach replied. He flipped a page, pale fingers sliding over the page. God, Dan could watch him read all day. “Library doesn’t always have books like these.”

“I used to think you were a doctor or a paramedic, you know.” He shifted on the couch, socked feet brushing against Rorschach’s leg. “Back when you first had to stitch me up. You knew your first aid, and the stitches were better than anything I’d ever been able to do. Thought maybe you did it for a living.”

Rorschach snorted.

“Yeah, maybe not,” Dan teased. “And even you’re not superhuman enough to hold down a paramedic’s schedule on top of a crimefighting one.”

“I’m not superhuman, Daniel.” Deadpan, as if he just needed reminding. “Just never been stupid enough to get two concussions in a week.”

“Give it time, buddy. I have faith in you.”

And Rorschach smiled at that— _smiled_ , and if that wasn’t the most fascinatingly disconcerting thing Dan had seen all night. Thin and crooked and with smile lines that looked more like scars on his cheeks, it clearly wasn’t expression meant for such a harsh face. Dan stared and wondered how often he’s smiled like that under the mask; how often he’d smiled at _him_ , unseen.

Suddenly restless, Dan sat up. “Hey, why don’t you do this more often?”

“Watch to make sure you don’t die in your sleep? Hope that doesn’t mean you plan on getting hit in the head more often.”

Dan flushed, but recovered. “No, I mean. I thought that after—” He stopped. How to put works to what they had happening between them? “You act like we’re just casual business partners, even after all that. I’d hoped you would, I don’t know. Be here more, at least.” He addressed somewhere around Rorschach’s knees and didn’t dare look up for a reaction, not just yet. “If something’s changed then I hope you’d at least let me know.”

Rorschach closed the book. “Heh. Figured this would come up.” He stood, walked to the bookshelf to press the volume back in with the other. The room was dim, rendering Rorschach’s features flat and harder to make out than Dan would like. Dan stood too; to block Rorschach’s retreat, maybe, though that could only end badly.

“Look, I’m not saying that you have to—” But Rorschach cut him off with a gesture.

“I…have my reasons. For behaving as I have recently. But,” he added quickly. Possibly he noticed how the color had drained from Dan’s face and was just as eager to get it over with. “I see your point. Meant what I said that night about…you. You and me. Disingenuous of me to ignore it, even if it…”

He stopped, shook his head as if to dispel an unwelcome thought. Dan tamped down on an urge to prod him on— _Even if it what?_ But no; one step at a time.

“Shouldn’t take an injury like that last one for me to stand by my word. Heh. To act like more than a casual business partner.”

Dan wavered back and sat heavily on the couch. Everything he’d been hoping for and…he didn’t know how to react.

“And you shouldn’t have to fake a concussion every time you want me to sit with you in your living room.”

Damn. “Yeah. Should have known it wouldn’t get past you.”

“Manipulative,” Rorschach said, but the tone was one he recognized. That rare, playful tone, now complimented by the lines of his face softening. “I ought to deck you for it.”

Dan held his hands up in mock defensiveness. “Hey now, you wouldn’t hit an injured man, would you? I did take a crowbar to the back.”

“Could let it slide this time. You’re lucky I like you.”

At that moment Dan was overwhelmingly relieved, the sensation building in his chest and washing out through his limbs—relief, and wonder at this man he’d gotten himself involved with. He sagged back into the couch and grinned up at the ceiling. He never thought getting just what he hoped for could be so surprising, so astounding.

The couch dipped with the weight of another person sitting down.

“God, Rorschach.” A little wild, still smiling like he couldn’t stop. “I honestly thought that you… You’re really something, you know that.”

Rorschach nudged at him with his arm. “Go to sleep Daniel. You’ll be alright.”

Dan leaned against Rorschach and breathed deep and knew it was true. This relationship would not be normal, and Rorschach would never stop surprising him, but, Dan thought, he could handle it.  



End file.
